


Hold Tight

by ladyofdragons



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Consentacles, Fluids, Hand & Finger Kink, Large insertions, M/M, Plants, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-The Transformers: Drift - Empire of Stone, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Stretching, Tentacles, The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye (IDW), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Xenophilia, from behind, kiiiiinda threesome?, neck biting, wet and not very messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 23:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdragons/pseuds/ladyofdragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet and Drift take the long way home while returning to the Lost Light, by way of a highly botanical planet with a little secret. Okay. A big secret. PWP porn with a hella cheesy ending that I refuse to feel sorry for. And okay, maybe there's a teeny bit of plot..?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Tight

If he'd known hiding out from the Galactic Council was going to be this fun, Drift would have done it sooner. Of course, the red and white weight of a certain medic pressing down on him had something to do with that, along with the tiny window of star speckled sky he could see through the serene canopy of greenery above him.

It'd been a convenient, out of the way planet to hide on; the low level, passive energy readings easy camouflage for their signatures and Ratchet's little shuttle. Drift had been too restless though, needing to leave the shuttle and 'take a walk', in reality trying to walk off some of the physical frustration that had been building while being in such intimate quarters for an extended period with the object of his crush.

And because everything about Ratchet was classic, the medic refused to allow the swordmech to wander a mysterious alien planet without escort. "Everything here's alive, who knows what kind of life you might unwittingly trample on during an innocent hike?" Ratchet had said dryly, making Drift lift a footplate and look critically at the flattened plant life beneath. It seemed hardier than Ratchet's sense of humor would indicate though--springing fairly readily back into shape--so Drift dashed off to catch up to the medic without a second thought.

 _I should just tell him,_ the swordmech had schooled himself as they moved through the jungle together, his systems aching for release. But telling was a great deal harder than actually doing, and in the same moment Drift was contemplating his options a sprawling vine made the entire debate moot: by tripping him and leaving them both inconveniently (or conveniently?) sprawled on the ground. The resulting lip lock had left Drift seeing stars in more than just a literal sense, and his systems purred warmly against Ratchet's frame as his arms snaked around that waist.

"We have a while to wait, the Council is stubborn about these things." Drift said, mouth flirting with a smile, lipplates still tingling like his EM field was. 

Ratchet huffed, but it was more habit than out of any true complaint. "Sure are delaying our return to the Lost Light a whole lot."

"Yeah? You in a rush, mister retired CMO?"

"Didn't leave for vacationing purposes, but--"

"But you can enjoy opportunity when it knocks, right?" And Drift was knocking, as hard as he thought he could get away with. Kiss warmed lipplates brushed teasingly against the corner of Ratchet's mouth. "You're awfully handsy all of a sudden," he murmured, bemused.

"Drift. My hands are on your shoulders..." 

"Wha--" he looked up--or tried to without smacking helms with Ratchet, achieving only mild success--to see that the wriggling around his hips was clearly not Ratchet's fingers teasing at his seams, but tiny little green leafy tendrils. "...oh."

"Now see? This whole world is full of hyper evolved botanical life, it's probably agitated that--"

A peeling giggle halted Ratchet's push upward, having just erupted from Drift's mouth, the swordmech's hand hastily clamping over the one that threatened to follow. The little vines only seemed to get more excited with each one, reacting to the laughter with interest instead of agitation. Drift loosed a hard cycle of air, trying to calm down, the plant life finally doing the same.

"Hrf. Probably reacting to your EM field," Ratchet said, because truth: Drift's EM field was doing some interesting things that probably made it pretty obvious that he'd been wanting this for a long time. The smooching part, at any rate, which there needed to be more of immediately in his opinion.

"Glad someone is," Drift said, vocals a little husky as he pulled Ratchet back down into a searing kiss, the kind that demanded action, an answer, and in it Drift found the flare of the medic's own EM field, the grope of his hands over shapely plating, and a forcefulness of his mouth that said he'd been wanting this too, for quite a while.

The deep violent starry sky was a true wonder, but it couldn't compete with so much that had gone unsaid, pent up, between them, much of it pouring out through kisses that were no longer hesitant or uncertain, hands that were no longer restrained. When the kiss broke finally it was with them both a little breathless, fans hitching, the little glade they'd fallen in now softly illuminated by gently glowing flora at the edges of the glade.

Drift chuffed a soft laugh against Ratchet's mouth, the vines having worked their way over his limbs, around his spaulders, even gently curled around one finial. "Think I made a new friend." 

Ratchet's engine rumbled with concern. "We should get back to the shuttle." 

"It's fine Ratch, it's not like they're holding me down or anything. Just tickles a little." 

"If they're this interested in you, I do _not_ want to imagine what they make of the shuttle."

Drift lay a moment, torn, then finally bowed his helm, rising unhindered from the soft loam and bed of vines as Ratchet did, the tangle of greenery sliding off his plating with a kind of reluctance, Drift's own EM field pulling in with disappointment. Maybe it was the way the cold air touched the places where Drift had warmed Ratchet's plating, or the shrinking of that plush EM field, but the medic turned away, looking off into the jungle as if inspecting the curious flora, thoughts elsewhere.

"Why do you concede so easily? Put your personal wants and needs beneath others?"

Drift just stood there, taken aback by the sudden subject change. "Seriously Ratch, it's fine--"

" _That's_ what I mean, right there. It's not as if my argument is all that compelling. So why give in on these things when you're so stubborn with everything else? It's not as if you don't deserve nice--"

The rest was cut off as strong arms encircled Ratchet from behind, Drift pressing his face against the medic's shoulder. "Ratchet..." He knew what was coming, and he wasn't ready to talk about it, to bear those insecurities, the things that made him strong when doing Right but uncertain about his worthiness when it came to personal things. "I just want to make you happy. Is that...so bad?"

"No, it isn't," Ratchet said softly, hands sliding over Drift's at his midsection. "But I don't want you to sacrifice your own happiness for it. It's rare enough these days..."

Drift made a noise, burrowing closer against Ratchet, taking it all as a sign--a good one--when he wasn't pushed away. The moment hung heavy between then, poignant and true, as the vines coiled in little spirals around their footplates.

And then Drift seemed to take a different kind of inspiration from Ratchet's words, mouth pressing hotly against the back of his neck, fingers rubbing gently between the medic's, the curl of the swordmech's frame against Ratchet's back taking on a wanton, sinewy slide that rubbed the heat of Drift's interface panel against all the right places. 

Ratchet's engine rumbled in response, betraying his arousal before he could say otherwise. Drift's hands and mouth took that as an invitation, moving more confidently now, skimming up one side and down the other, tracing over the hip and around the edge of the interface panel, mouthing at the edge of Ratchet's helm until the medic tilted for him, letting the swordmech at delicate neck cabling. 

"If I wake up back in the shuttle before the good part of this dream, I'm gonna punch something," Ratchet rumbled, provoking a husky chuckle from Drift. Ratchet tried to turn, to seek that mouth with his own, trying to reach for more, use the best feature of his hands, but Drift held him fast, dentae biting gently down on those neck cables in reprimand. "Un-uh," the swordmech replied, holding fast.

"Kind of hard to reciprocate like this you know."

"That's the point. You said I shouldn't concede my wants and needs," Drift's glossa flicked over the bite, "and I want this."

If Ratchet had any doubts, or any objections for that matter, they were squashed by the full palm squeeze of his interface panel. He groaned, conceding under that assault, the click of the hatch opening and spike pressurizing clearly audible in the forested night. Drift's engine gave a soft rev, fingers trailing over the shape of the spike as if examining it, doing things his optics could not from his current position. His own array pinged online, heat pooling behind the equipment covers. Ratchet reached up, seeking to cup the back of that helm and stroke a finial, but Drift captured two of those fingers in his mouth, closing around them hotly with a swipe of his tongue. Ratchet groaned again, feet shifting, and Drift took that opportunity to draw them both down, kneeling in the glade's soft loam, little blue and green leafy vines curling animatedly up around them in renewed welcome.

Drift's fingers closed around the spike, Ratchet's hips bucking slightly in a telltale sign that he hadn't known a touch other than his own in a while. The swordmech's other hand wandered down the outside of a thigh then up the inside, thumb digging into the groove of the hip joint while his fingertips found the valve cover.

"Ambitious, aren't you?" Ratchet said gruffly, as nonchalant as he could despite the hard throb of his EM field.

"Mmm. You must be a sight right now. Shame I can't see it." Drift whispered, as if promising to make up for it later. Or now, with his hands, fingers probing into the valve as the cover spiraled open, lubricant already collecting beyond the rim.

Soft green tendrils curled over their legs, exploring, brushing seams and dipping into joints, stirring the static charge there as if drawn to it. Drift shivered, his high levels of latent charge making his frame feel tighter than ever, drawing a gasp from Ratchet as he sucked hard on those fingers. 

Ratchet's engine revved and he pressed back, knees spreading wider, free hand groping for one of those glorious thighs. "You just gonna tease me all night?" 

Another noise came from Drift's mouth around Ratchet's fingers, clearly negatory, and added one last nibble before he pulled away enough to flick open his interface hatch, red and white accented spike jumping eagerly free.

In other circumstances he might have prolonged this, but the way their EM fields lapped at each other, plush and wanting, starting to weft together, he needed them to be joined, now, physically. Red hips rocked back as Ratchet sank to all fours, Drift seating his spike in the waiting valve slowly at first, then giving in to his more forceful need with a groan and jolt of his hips. Ratchet's noises where more spirited, a hard gasp followed by a smaller one of surprise, the tiny green tendrils springing up around his fingers, sliding over them just as Drift had done before. They snaked over the swordmech's kneeling legs too, hugging footplate and kneeguard alike. But Drift still sensed no danger, only a tingly disruption in his EM field. Just as Ratchet seemed ready to air his impatience, valve calipers cycling readily along Drift's length, the swordmech started moving.

It was hot and needy, the air suddenly feeling very tropical, filled with the sounds of their interfacing, gruff moans and impassioned pants, the driving thud of body against body. Ratchet's vents caught, hard, and he gasped as the vine tendrils reached up and curled around his dangling spike in a tentative reproduction of Drift's earlier grip. Unlike before though, Ratchet had not the sense nor the breath to complain, hips twitching but not pulling away, surging backward onto Drift's spike then forward to rock against those tendrils.

More vines, both thick and thin, crept loosely over Drift's hips towards his spike, their touch jolting him to attention, his thrusts shuddering to a stop. Vents heaved air and the swordmech hesitated, uncertain of this new development, but to the vines it was an invitation to spiral around that exposed spike, coating themselves in the lubricant almost greedily, reaching for the slick interior of Ratchet's valve. Drift shuddered, letting out a soft mewl at the new sensations, but Ratchet would have no more hesitation.

"Fragging hell don't stop!"

"You sure? It's--I'm--" Having a hard time talking is what, Drift thought, with what felt like dozens of little fingers petting his spike. A hard pulse from Ratchet's EM field and the swordmech was snapped back to himself, needing no more encouragement to continue, easing his now vine engorged spike into Ratchet's valve. "Bigger now." He huffed out, moving slowly, carefully letting the medic adjust. 

"Noticed...that." Ratchet managed, obviously focused on managing his equipment, calipers realigning and mesh lining unpleating, the rim stretching not to capacity but near to it. Ratchet's fans spun faster and Drift let go a heady groan when he seated fully, whispering words that he hoped were unintelligible, because this was beyond strangely hot and there was no way his word choice right now was articulate or proper. They stayed that way for a klik or two, bodies shivering on the cusp of too extreme, taking in the whorl of sensation what was not only each other but the strange native flora as well. But Drift couldn't stay still for long; Ratchet's lubricant seeping through the vines and igniting his spike with need. Drift's pace renewed itself, driven by the combined grip of the vines and Ratchet calipers, still demanding, and the teasing dance of the vines elsewhere along his body, over the backs of his tires, creeping into wheel wells and joints.

It was all too much--both of them already pent up, the unusual assistance from the native flora--and soon overload was crashing over them both, Drift loosing a hard yell into the night sky as Ratchet buried one in the moss covered ground.

Condensation gathered on their plating, the sounds of their heated systems the only noise filling the glade as the both grew lax, sinking down, Ratchet to his elbows and Drift pressing his face to Ratchet's back, embracing him with one arm, vents panting hot air into the tropical night. 

If rest was needed though they would get none, because the overloads seemed to make their new native friends only grow more interested, twining more thoroughly around Ratchet's spike, coaxing lubricant from the channels. He gave a drawn out moan, the vines around Drift's spike shifting and pulsing as if working ever last bit of transfluid free. The swordmech gave a sharp noise, spike still over-sensitive with post-overload aura, and the tendrils grew gentler, easing off.

Or were they just changing targets? Drift felt them exploring the inside lines of his interface hatch, probing around the heat of his valve cover and dancing over the roundness of his aft. He let out a low moan, the kind that said he probably shouldn't but how does one resist? The swordmech's equipment seemed to agree, the valve cover spiraling open, and the little blue-green tendrils slipped inside, one, then two, tentatively as if exploring, the valve calipers fluttering in reaction, lubricant slicking the mesh lining. He let out a gasp, the touches fine and almost feather-light, unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

"You okay?" Ratchet asked from beneath him.

"Yes-- _very_!!" Drift squeaked out as he was suddenly filled, a larger spiraled mass of vines entering him, not unlike the one that still somewhat hugged his own spike. "Gnnuuh!" He groaned against Ratchet's back plating, not fighting the urge to tilt his hips up, seeking more.

The medic himself could only remain distracted by Drift's situation for a moment, when the leafy vines around his spike seemed to cease their casual exploration and hugged more closely, coiling around him entirely, stray tendrils stroking his inner thighs as he knelt with splayed knees in the glade. His fingers and elbow joints dug into the ground, Drift's weight pressing them into the carpet of moss and loam, both mechs' cooling systems venting hot air into the small space between their bodies and the ground. Drift could feel the medic shudder beneath him, the flare of the EM field that was renewed arousal.

Drift was about to ask a similar question, if Ratchet was okay, but the words came out half garbled instead, the mass of vines within his valve shifting their shape inside him, curling long to press against his ceiling node, then spiraling open to spread him wide. They continued like this experimentally, then more vines joined, one by one, large and small, stretching the valve until Drift's frame and EM field quivered on that slick edge of pleasure and pain. The swordmech was barely aware of Ratchet's rough venting beneath him, the feel of his own spike still in Ratchet's valve, and he sought one of the medic's hands with his own, fingers twining together in a firm grip amidst the moss.

There wasn't room for words anymore, just the surging of their bodies against each other, pace set by the movement of the flora as it performed its own version of their earlier interfacing, new tendrils seeking all the other dark, sensitive parts of their bodies as their moans and cries echoed into the night.

It was over perhaps too soon, too intense, the wave of elections crashing over them both in an overload harder than either had felt in ages. Drift thought he was prepared, but it crested over him higher than ever, his HUD going white, all sense of the world save those sensations dissolving from existence in that one pristine moment. And in that moment he felt it, the third presence, larger than either them, huge and worldly like Vector Sigma had been. But it felt young by comparison and so full of hope, curiosity and...appreciation? No, pleasure and gratitude? For sharing, for learning. Just as Drift thought to push his own thoughts and feelings, wonder and awe, through the link, it was broken, little glowing tendrils withdrawing from his hardline port hatch and chestplate.

The world returned then, an almost fragile peace settling around them, feeling like an euphoria clouded heaven. Drift heaved a huge ex-vent and fell to one side, rolling off Ratchet to once again stare dazedly up at the stars. The moss felt cool against the warm plating of his back, his heated equipment left free to cool in the evening air. The vines simply lay, curling gently against them, along his inner thighs as if softly lapping away the streaks of lubricant.

"Sure you want to go back to the shuttle now?" Drift said finally, words light with a sated weariness. 

Ratchet groaned and eased his bent legs out straight, flexing the joints. "If you think I'm prepared to move much any time soon you are vastly mistaken."

Drift's mouth twitched. "Worked those old gears too hard, did we?" 

"I'll show you old gears!" Ratchet huffed, surging up and pouncing on Drift, tweaking a finial. The swordmech gave a squawk of surprise and playful dismay, but his arms gleefully wrapped around the medic instead, as if Ratchet had fallen into a cunning trap. 

"Oh, I lay here corrected then." And lay there Drift fully intended to do, with Ratchet firmly in his grasp, until their fuel reserves pinged low. The medic seemed willing, more than really, settling in and turning to face Drift. They hung there a moment, the gravity of the moment beyond words, but enough to draw them together in a long kiss, one that promised others in the future. 

Ratchet broke it finally, turning speculative and concerned optics towards the swordmech. "You seemed to be lost there, really out of it, a bit ago. What happened?" 

Drift's contact with the native entity had seemed regrettably brief, but perhaps it had been longer than it seemed. He hummed thoughtfully for a moment, knowing that Ratchet wasn't a believer, that the medic had always been one for pragmatic logic over faith. It was something that had always set them apart. "You wouldn't believe me," he said finally, spaulders shifting in a small shrug.

Ratchet's helm tilted, considering Drift for a moment, then his mouthplates pursed. "Try me."

A soft smile stole over Drift's features and his hold on Ratchet tightened, pulsing gratitude through his EM field: for this, for Ratchet, for this place and its wonder, the unique way it chose to get acquainted, to help him past his quandary. His optics shifted color slightly, matching the sentiment, and soft opalescent light seemed to gild Ratchet's features, the whole glade now blooming with tiny glowing pearlescent flowers from each vine, turning the little glade into a lush and radiant eden.

One tiny vine snaked up to Ratchet's helm, softly brushing away a stubborn piece of moss that clung to his chevron. Silence filled the glade for two kilks, then both mechs erupted into laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Been thirsty for some kink, this is the result. This setting, probably obviously, kinda rides on the idea of crossing TFs with a world like Avatar's Pandora. Which is an idea that probably deserves a look more closely than PWP smut allows, but what can I say? Priorities, I have them!


End file.
